Gotham Hustle
by n7agentbartowski
Summary: Crime boss, Jack "The Joker" Napier, has Gotham in the palm of his hand. FBI agent Pamela Isley is called in to put an end to Joker's reign, when she meets the mob boss' wife, and suddenly the line between right and wrong begins to blur.
1. Chapter 1

Welcome to my new multi chapter fic. My sincerest thanks to AmberZ10 and michaelfmx for their beta services and thoughts.

* * *

The air in the bar was heady, thick with the scent of smoke and booze. It was beginning to make Pamela sweat in that uncomfortable, 'I should probably be asleep' kind of way.

She sipped at her whiskey neat slower than her companions. Namely Selina, who was on her third rum and coke in little over an hour.

Pam knew from experience—lots of experience—that Selina could hold her liquor. But even so, the brunette's eyes were glassy now and she swayed ever so slightly in her seat.

"How you doin', Pammy?" she teased, nudging Pam's half empty glass. "Feel free to catch up anytime."

Bruce snorted beside her, raising his water to his lips—as he'd insisted on the role of designated driver.

"I think I'll let you do most of the footwork tonight," Pam offered. "I've got an early meeting with the Director tomorrow."

Selina's eyes widened, her painted red lips forming an 'o'. "A meeting with the Director. Hear that, Brucie? Our girl's got a fancy mission."

"That might not be the case." Pam took another sip of her drink.

"What else could it be?" Selina scoffed. "The Agency sent you to Gotham Fucking City. Did they want you to stand around and smell the roses?"

"The sewage," Bruce corrected, and Selina bobbed her head sagely.

"Fine then," Pam relented. "A mission. Say it louder, why don't you?"

Selina took the invitation, leaning back in her stool and opening her mouth to shout, "Hey everyo—,"

Pam quickly kicked her in the shin. "You're such an ass."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Selina hiccupped, rubbing her leg. "Don't make fun of a serious agent, Bruce. She's serious. Probably packing."

"Packing?" Bruce's brows bounced once. "There were rumors back in school, Pamela…"

Pam rolled her eyes. "That sort of humor is unbecoming of you, Bruce."

Selina was chuckling beside him. "And he's not even drunk."

"Just an ass," Bruce added with a wink before Pam could beat him to it.

Huffing, Pam sat back on her stool and crossed her arms over her chest. "Why did I bother accepting your invitation tonight?"

"Because you looove us," Selina cooed. "And…You know that weknow this shithole like the back of our hands, and you wanted to get a leg up on Gordon before he briefs you tomorrow."

Selina had always been sharp.

"No…I missed you."

"Pfft." Selina continued without missing a beat, "We have theories. They are two-fold. One."

Bruce held up a finger for her.

"You're here to investigate that joker running around calling himself the Riddler."

"Riddler?"

"Yeah, tells riddles…Sort of holds up museums? One museum…Mine."

"He held up your museum?" Pam raised a single brow.

Selina's nose wrinkled. "Not—Well—He really just tags property and runs away. He's all the rage."

"But he's small potatoes," Bruce added.

"Yeah, the GCPD can handle him."

"Although they haven't, yet."

Selina waved a hand. "Or option two…"

"The real 'Joker'," Bruce continued. "Jack Napier."

"Gotham's most notorious crime boss," Selina finished off her drink, pausing her speech for a moment to lower her empty glass back to the counter, the gesture for some reason making Pam a bit uneasy.

"Jack Napier," Pam repeated.

Selina nodded. "And unlike everyone and their nanny who calls themselves a crime boss in this clusterfuck of a city…His name actually means something." She was tipping her glass from side to side, the bottom dragging on the cheaply laminated wood of the bar.

"He's been a hustler in Gotham for a little over two decades," Bruce explained. "But only in the last few years has he really asserted himself as a kingpin."

"He's got Gotham by the balls."

Pam glanced back and forth between her friends. "But the GCPD hasn't had any luck pinning anything on him, I take it?"

"You'd be correct." Bruce was waving down the bartender, stuffing a wad of bills into the man's hand. "He's earned his place and he's intent on keeping it."

Grabbing his glass, Bruce downed the rest of his water, swallowing and pinning Pam with one pointed finger. "That's why you're here."

"You think the Bureau sent me back to Gotham to take down a crime lord?" Pam summarized, watching as Bruce helped Selina to her feet, slipping her charcoal pea coat over her shoulders.

"Gig of a life time, eh, Pammy?" Selina grinned, kissing Pam's cheek. "Welcome home."

"Need a ride?" Bruce asked.

Pam shook her head. "It's a nice night, I'll walk."

The incredulity in Bruce's voice was palpable when he said, "Be careful."

"You don't need to tell her to be careful, Bruce," Selina admonished. "She's packing, remember? Anyone who tries to cross Pam Isley's gettin' one in the kisser."

Selina offered a wink before allowing Bruce to lead her away, one arm wrapped firmly around her waist. Pam watched her friends go, a rush of cool night air sweeping into the bar behind them, breathing some life back into her brain.

After finishing her drink and setting down a few extra dollars for her own tip, Pam slung her bag over her shoulder and followed her friends out into the night.

Bruce's sleek black Corvette was already taking off by the time Pam made her way outside and she watched it disappear down the dingy Gotham streets.

Ducking her chin to her chest to protect herself from the chill in the air, Pamela made her way down the block towards the cheap motel her superiors had secured her.

She arrived without issue, the sounds and scuffle of the city ushering her inside her room. Plopping down onto the questionable bedspread, Pam shrugged off her coat and flopped back against the pillows, closing her eyes as the quiet buzz from the alcohol filled her skull.

/

The sharp clack of Pamela's high heels echoed around the empty hallway. It was still early, and although Pam wasn't the only agent occupying the Gotham City field office at the moment, she was the only one striding with purpose towards the Director's office.

Her conversation with Bruce and Selina the night before hadn't stopped spinning in her head.

Pam had found her calling with the FBI in D.C., but her old friends had remained in Gotham even after they'd all graduated from GSU together. Bruce and Selina'd had their fingers on Gotham's pulse for years. If there was one thing that Pamela's experience in the field had taught her, it was to use your resources. Although it'd been some time since she'd called Gotham home, the Agency must have taken her history into account when assigning her this case.

Who better to go digging through the dregs of Gotham City's underbelly than a born and raised Gothamite herself?

Whatever the Director had to brief her with this morning, Pam was sure she was already a few steps ahead of him.

Approaching the door at the end of the main hallway, Pamela knocked three times, waiting somewhat anxiously for the quiet 'Come in', that came a few moments later. Stepping inside, Pam closed the door behind her, turning the lock to ensure privacy.

James Gordon sat behind his desk, flipping through a thick file. He wore a rumpled button down, a coffee stain adorning the breast pocket. His tie was loosened, and his suspenders lay slack over his shoulders. 'Tired' was the best word Pamela could think to describe him. Worn from years of scrubbing up a city that refused to stay clean.

He looked up when he heard the door shut, peering at Pam over the rim of his square glasses. "Agent Isley. Have a seat."

Pamela took a chair from the corner of the room and sat down in front of Gordon's desk, smoothing out her pencil skirt and then neatly resting her hands in her lap.

"His name is Jack Napier," Gordon began without preamble, pushing the open folder across his desk. "More commonly known as 'The Joker' to anyone outside his inner circle."

 _They were right._

Pamela pulled the file onto her lap, using a single finger to push the thick rimmed glasses she wore up the bridge of her nose. Jack Napier stared back at her, a wide grin teasing her from behind the glossy surface of the photograph. His greasy black hair was slicked back against his skull, and two dark eyebrows hung heavy over his beady black eyes.

"He's fourty-three years old, suspected of loan-sharking, forgery, prostitution, gambling, narcotics—more crimes than I have time to go over today. And…He's your new mark." Gordon braced his elbows on the desk, lacing his fingers underneath his chin.

The man _looked_ like a criminal. Pamela couldn't be sure how he'd gone so long without falling into the hands of the law.

Then again, back in school when Pam had first been applying herself to her pursuit of a career with the Bureau, Selina had thrown more than a few jokes around about the state of Gotham's criminal law enforcement. The GCPD had never won any awards for efficiency. And Gotham's crime rate seemed to rise every year.

This place was a breeding ground for scum like Napier.

"We can't nail him, Isley. He's slippery. We need a federal crime to hang our case on and evidence to back it up. We tried to keep it simple. Laundering. But the guys only endorsed one check in his entire god damn life, as far as we can tell. He deals entirely in cash. It's hard to track a guy that keeps his business so close to the vest."

Pamela looked up from the file, closing it and laying her hands on top of it. "And there's no one you've managed to arrest? Any of the men that work for him?"

"No one talks." Gordon pulled a cigarette from his breast pocket, flicking his lighter once, then twice, until the faint scent of smoke filled the air in the stuffy office. "The ones we've found defend him as if their lives depend on it. They probably do."

"What about the local prosecution?" Pamela asked.

"They're just as corrupt as Napier is. Every lawyer in this town is on his side. You know the story, Isley. Your superiors told me this is your old watering hole. Gotham is a garbage fire. If someone's not getting murdered, they're doing the murdering. And I suspect Napier does a lot of bribing to cover his tracks."

"And now we're involved," Pam prompted. It wasn't as if Gotham hadn't been on the FBI's radar in the past. But even so, if Napier had managed to keep himself above the law for this long, Pam wondered just how deep his criminal activity went.

"Napier was charged with contempt a few days ago, for failing to appear in court questioning." Gordon leaned back in his chair, a thin trail of smoke rising from the end of his cigarette.

"Questioning?"

"There was a riot at the GCPD headquarters downtown. A few good officers were killed in a shootout with some of the more notorious gangs. Napier was suspected of involvement. Called in for his testimony, he never showed. And now we have a chance to shut him down."

"What's my cover?" Pamela asked, electing to skip the finer details of the mission for now and get straight to the point.

Gordon evidently hadn't been anticipating that question so soon, because he lost a bit of his edge when he said, "We, uh…Well, we figure the best cover we can get you is that of a mob wife."

Pam's brow wrinkled. "A mob wife? What good is that supposed to do me? If Napier's crimes lie in his business dealings, the best thing to do is—,"

"Get you a job in sanitation? In his casino? You really think he'd hire a woman into one of his companies? Let's say, for posterity's sake, we could scrap up some phony cover story for you. It'd have to be a hell of an impressive resume to get you into Napier's immediate ranks." Gordon had regained his composure.

Pam's eyes narrowed. "But a wife has to have a husband. Yes? You feel you'll be able to fabricate a reasonably passable cover for a man, but not for me?"

"Look, I'm not the one you should feel insulted by," Gordon dodged when Pam's scowl deepened. "I'm stating the facts. This is how Napier operates. The only way you're going to get close to him is to slip in with the other women."

"So, a husband—," Pam repeated more slowly.

"We're assigning you a partner."

Seems Gordon didn't trust her abilities or expertise as much as she thought.

"Who?"

"Special Agent Harvey Dent."

Pam looked a him blankly. She'd never heard the name around headquarters. So whoever Harvey Dent was, he must have been stationed elsewhere. Maybe here, in Gotham. This is where agents went to have their careers mutilated. _Right_. Most people came out of here crooked.

"Dent is a good man," Gordon continued, unprovoked, as if he could read her thoughts. "And a better agent. He'll be an excellent partner. I've no doubt the two of you will be able to—,"

Another knock on the door interrupted Gordon, and both he and Pam stared at it a moment before the Director nodded for her to open it.

Pam did, making way for a tall, dark-haired main, a good few years older than her. He wore a dark suit and matching tie, his hair coifed and his face clean shaven. He reached for Pam's hand almost immediately, shaking it firmly.

"Harvey Dent," he introduced himself with a polite smile. "You must be Agent Isley? It's a pleasure."

"The pleasure is mine," Pam assured him, returning the handshake.

"A little late for the briefing, Dent," Gordon grumbled, although there was a smirk on his lips. "Were you waiting outside the door for that convenient introduction?"

Releasing her hand, he turned his attention to Gordon, dipping his chin slightly. "You'll have to excuse me, Jim. I hadn't realized how late I was running when I received your fax."

Gordon waved his excuse away, gesturing for them both to take a seat again. Pam did a little uneasily, already beginning to feel like an outsider amongst the men. But this was her mission. The Bureau had sent her here. And she'd be damned if she'd let a little uneasiness affect her sense of fortitude.

Pamela Isley was at her best when she had something to prove.

"We've secured you a loft downtown," Gordon continued as if Harvey had been privy to the entire conversation. "From there you'll be able to monitor Napier's activities, not to mention the fact that you'll be working right alongside him."

Gordon nodded in Harvey's direction.

"And how is that?" Pam asked.

"We secured Agent Dent a cover as Napier's public defender for his contempt charge. It will be up to him to gain Napier's trust and find a way inside his inner ranks."

Pam's annoyance was growing. This case was slipping through her fingers with every passing second, being handed over to an agent she didn't even know.

"And what makes Agent Dent qualified to convincingly represent Napier in his legal proceedings?"

"I graduated law school before joining the Bureau. I've got a bit of experience under my belt," Harvey answered, sounding sly.

"Harvey's been working deep cover cases for quite some time. He's got a fabricated reputation that Napier wants," Gordon elaborated. "He was quick to snatch him up once the charges came along."

"I see." Frustrated with herself, Pam sat back in her seat, lips forming a thin line.

"Now, as for you, Isley…" Gordon took Napier's file off the table, switching it for another folder, this one thinner than the last. "We need you to blend in convincingly with the other women, most importantly, _this_ woman."

He slid the file towards Pam, who opened it curiously. Inside was a picture of a young woman, blonde hair and clear blue eyes. The picture had been taken from afar, giving Pam a good view of the expensive dress and jewelry she wore. And by her side was Jack Napier.

"Is this—,"

"Napier's wife," Gordon finished for her, his eyes trained on the picture as well. "Formerly Harleen Quinzel. Twenty-eight years old. Grew up in Gotham, never finished her medical degree—married Napier four years ago instead. If anyone has information on Jack Napier's personal life, it's her. She'll know how his mind works."

Harvey was eyeing the picture too, with a look Pam couldn't call entirely professional.

"If you can get on her good side, who knows what you could learn."

Harvey would have the wall of a business relationship, but Pam had a chance to build a fabricated friendship, at the very least, that would get her right on the inside track.

The mission was quickly turning around again.

Closing the file, Pam smiled and returned her attention to Gordon. "So, when do we start?"

"Napier's court appearance is in a week. You'll make first contact tomorrow. Take tonight to prepare, get to know each other, feel out your cover. I don't care. Just get ready. It's time Napier falls into the hands of the law. Good luck, agents."

* * *

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Pam stepped into the loft, shrugging off her coat and hanging it on the rack that stood by the front door.

Harvey followed her in, letting out a low whistle as he did a slow turn, taking in their surroundings.

The loft was fully furnished, with a separate bedroom, kitchen and bathroom, all situated around a spacious living room.

"Can't imagine how much it cost them to secure us a place like this," Harvey mumbled, half to himself.

Pam, however, was more concerned with focusing on the task at hand. She found a file on the kitchen island and opened it, peering at the list of detailed documents inside.

"Paula and Henry Irving," she mused, taking a seat on one of the stools around the kitchen island. "Married last year at my parent's villa in Seattle, where I was born and raised. Until I chose to attend GSU for my associates degree in law." Harvey moved into the kitchen, bracing himself on the island by his forearms. "We met when you hired me as your legal secretary and began dating—,"

"You don't have the credibility to be a legal secretary," Harvey objected.

"They'll never have to see me work, it doesn't matter what I'm qualified to do," Pam retaliated without missing a beat.

Harvey tipped his head and shrugged. "I'm just thinking out loud."

"If the Bureau believes it will be a credible cover, it doesn't really matter what you think, does it?" Pam's reply was haughty, but Harvey didn't seem too phased. He just narrowed his eyes at her, a wrinkle forming between his brows.

Breaking the tension, Pam spun the file around and pushed it towards him. He gave her one last hard look, before studying the it.

"Says I was born and raised in Gotham. My father was a corporate lawyer and my mother did secretarial work. I worked my ass off in high school to get myself a full ride scholarship to GSU and after that law school."

Harvey leaned back in his stool. "So do you want to know the real story?"

"I don't think that's necessary, we have our covers."

"We'll be working together for the next few months, I would assume, Agent Isley. Do you really prefer to be living with a stranger?" Harvey crossed his arms over his chest, a quiet smirk playing on his lips.

Unfortunately, Pam had to acknowledge the logic in his reasoning. So, slowly, she dipped her chin, gesturing for him to continue.

"The stuff about school is true. I was recruited by the FBI shortly before I left law school and have been working deep cover cases for about three years. My father, in reality, was an alcoholic. I spent my childhood protecting myself and my mother from him. Most of the time unsuccessfully. During one of his more drunken rants, he left me this." Harvey pointed to a scar that cut through his right brow. "Split my face open and left me a permanent reminder of where I came from."

"I'm sorry," Pam's words sounded sterile in the light of Harvey's admission.

But he just shrugged. "Nothing to be done about it now. I've made my peace with it. And if it weren't for him, I'm not sure I would have pushed myself so hard in school."

"What made you choose the Bureau?"

"I wanted to do some good for Gotham. That's why I went after a law degree. But I figured, when I was recruited, I could do even more from a position in the FBI."

"You care a lot about this city," Pam acknowledged.

Harvey nodded, picking at the unfinished stone of the counter. "I was raised here. It's not perfect by any means, but I suppose I feel some sense of allegiance. Especially when there's a chance I can do something for it and the people."

"Noble of you," Pam mumbled.

"Do you not feel the same way?"

"I do in some regard," she admitted. "I was also born here, also attended GSU. But I left it behind when I joined the Bureau, I made myself comfortable in D.C,. Gotham is a place, not a home."

Harvey frowned at her and for a moment Pam thought he would push. But instead he asked, "You didn't get fed up with the bureaucracy in D.C.?'

"Gotham has its own sins."

Harvey considered this, brow bouncing once, and then sat back in his stool. "What about your family?"

"My father was a botanist. He met my mother at Seattle University. They moved here when he was hired by Thomas Wayne. I was born a year later. My mother was the one who raised me though, I didn't see much of my father. He worked for the Wayne Botanical Gardens for over a decade before deciding to move back to Seattle with my mother. By that time I was already a student at GSU. I didn't go with them." Pam ticked the events off an imaginary list, her words staccato.

"You know the Wayne's?" Harvey seemed to have ignored the rest of her explanation.

"I do. But not well. My father was just a cog in the Wayne Enterprise."

Harvey nodded, accepting her answer, for which Pam was more than grateful. Her relationship with Bruce wasn't something she was willing to divulge with her partner at this time. Not when he had his finger on the pulse of the city. If she gave Harvey that advantage, she lost the mission.

"Well then," Harvey rubbed his hands together. "We've introduced ourselves, reviewed our cover. I think it's time we go over the plan for first contact."

"What did you have in mind?"

"I'll be meeting with Napier to discuss the upcoming trial. But according to Gordon, he's insistent we meet in the comfort of his own home."

"That's better for us," Pam said, tapping her fingers against the counter thoughtfully. "We can get a good idea of the layout of his property. Search for cameras. And you'll be able to plant bugs or a tracker."

"That's certainly the hope. But I don't know how closely I'll be monitored. It might be impossible at this point, until I gain some of his trust. This won't be the last meeting between us. I think I'll be able to set up proper surveillance soon enough. You on the other hand—,"

Pam interrupted before he could finish. "I'll be able to scope out the property from the outside. Track any movement made inside or outside the house."

"You want to do a stakeout?" Harvey clarified, eyebrows lifting.

"'Want' is a strong word." Pam hated the idea. Sitting in a car, idly waiting for activity, feeling more useless than she knew she was. No, she was not looking forward to the idea of a stakeout. But it was all she could do at this point. "But I believe it needs to be done."

"Fair enough." Harvey stood, his stool scraping against the floor. "We have one more thing to take care of then. We'll need a camera."

Pam stood with him, although with less purpose. "A camera?"

"Exactly. Our covers, remember? Napier may decide to make regular visits to my office. I need to make him believe I have a wife I adore." He gave her a charming smile. "Snapping a few posed photographs won't take long. And we can set some around the loft too, in case we have company."

"You think Napier will stop by for tea?" Pam asked dubiously.

Harvey frowned, irritated. "I'm not sure what we'll need to be prepared for, so why not cover all the bases? And let's not forget that we need to get you fixed up."

Pam recoiled. "What does that mean?"

"It means you don't look even close to what you should in order to blend in with the women. Lose the glasses, fix the hair, manicure, pedicure, probably a quick spray tan for that pale complexion."

Pam found herself at a loss for words, she merely gaped at Harvey, her cheeks going red with anger.

Ignoring her reaction, he stood and grabbed his coat from the rack again, slipping it over his shoulders and gesturing for Pam to follow. "Let's go, dear. We've got a lot to do before tomorrow."

He held out his arm for her, and reluctantly, Pam joined him at the front door after pulling on her own coat. Refusing his arm for the sake of her pride, she led the way outside.

"And rings," Harvey called after her. "We need rings!"

/

Pam stared hard out the front window of the car, glowering at the mansion spread out before her. It was almost noon, the sun hanging high in the sky, the heat making the inside of the car suffocating.

Harvey had been inside the house for close to two hours now. Talking with Napier, making himself comfortable inside the home of Gotham's most notorious mob boss, who was none the wiser. Harvey had direct access to his darkest secrets. He was inches away from cracking the case wide open. All he needed was a chance.

And who knew when that would come. A week from now? A month? It didn't matter. He had Napier in the palm of his hand.

It frustrated Pam to no end, to have her case resting on the shoulders of another agent. And what could she do but wait for an opportunity?

She had no chance of meeting Napier face to face. And the outside of the house, she'd discovered, was a fortress. Cameras, guards, dogs.

No one got inside without an invitation. And unless she wanted to risk the entire mission by skirting Napier's security and climbing inside one of his windows, she was essentially useless.

Stuck staking out an impenetrable fortress. A necessary errand, but one that made her itch impatiently. No questioning, no cover to play, nothing to do but to sit and wait. Part of her was beginning to resent Gordon. He'd promised her the mission, given her false assurance of her usefulness. The other half of her, however, demanded patience.

So, she waited, newly manicured fingers tapping rhythmically on the steering wheel, the sound beginning to annoy her.

The time ticked by with no word from Harvey.

Frustrated, she watched a single guard make his rounds three times before, finally, a small movement caught her eye.

A woman was leaving through the front door.

From her vantage point, Pam couldn't make out many details, except for the fact that the woman was wearing a white sundress and a large hat that partially covered her face.

She slipped inside the garage, emerging a moment later inside a black Lamborghini. With it came a suburban. Pam could hear the engines rev from her position as they both backed out of the driveway and through the front gates, tearing off down the street at an uncomfortable speed.

In that instant Gordon's words came back to her.

" _We need you to blend in convincingly with the other women, most importantly, this woman."_

 _Harleen…_

Pam quickly turned the car on again, throwing her arm over the passenger seat as she backed up and drove as fast as she could back down the hill. She doubted she was going to be able to properly tail Harleen at this point. But the direction she'd chosen told Pam that she was heading downtown.

Traffic in the city was bumper to bumper. Luckily, it kept the Lamborghini within view, as Pam crawled a few cars behind. The suburban stayed right beside it.

A body guard Pam assumed. Of course she'd have protection going into the city, she was Napier's wife after all.

The thought made Pam's skin crawl. As if anyone in their right mind would stoop so low as to tie themselves to that scum bag.

The sound of car horns and profanities being shouted out open windows surrounded her. But Pam had zeroed in on the car, drowning out the rest of the world around her. She followed it deep into the heart of the city, struggling to tail it properly as it swerved haphazardly in and out of traffic.

Finally, they reached a parking structure just beside Gotham's downtown shopping center. Pam kept her distance, a few cars behind the suburban as they entered the structure.

She followed it up to the third level before parking in the far corner, peering out of her rearview mirror to see the woman in the sundress stepping out of her car.

With a better view of her from here, Pam was now certain it was the woman she'd seen in Gordon's file.

Now the challenge was to set up a purposeful meeting. One that didn't seem too intentional. And one that didn't raise the suspicion of the two hulking guards that stepped out of the suburban behind her.

Leaving her own car, Pam walked quickly, the clack of her heels uncomfortably loud in the cavernous parking structure.

Harleen and the two guards caught the first elevator down, which although inconvenient, Pam knew was for the best, in terms of surveillance. If she intended to corner Harleen in what seemed like an entirely innocent manner, she would need to make sure she didn't establish contact before that moment.

When the second the elevator let her out on the ground floor, Pam scanned the crowds for signs of a white sundress.

It was the hat that made her easy to spot. Flopping comically above the dozens of other heads.

The two enormous men trailing behind her certainly helped as well.

Pam made her way through the crowd slowly, carefully skirting around the occasional citizen that blocked her view.

Harleen took her time. Meandering past the shops, gazing into windows, even talking to her guards as she pointed at objects in the shops that Pam couldn't see. She stopped inside a jewelry shop, slipping inside while her guards took up position out front, loitering by a lamppost. One of them took a box of cigarettes and lighter out of his pocket, offering one to his companion.

Pam watched as they began to smoke, their focus drifting from the store front. She waited patiently for a few minutes, making sure their attention was elsewhere. If she were to botch the interaction (unlikely), it would be best that the guards didn't get a good look at her face.

But before Pam could dare to slip inside, Harleen returned, her face scrunched as if she were disgusted by something.

She didn't even acknowledge her guards as she continued down the street. But they leapt to attention, stomping their cigarettes out on the ground and hurrying after her.

Pam followed too, struggling to keep up with Harleen's suddenly purposeful pace.

They approached one of Gotham's more expensive clothing stores and Pam stopped, watching carefully as Harleen walked inside, and once again, her guards took up position.

This time, however, there were no cigarettes, and no conversation. They eyed every citizen who wandered inside the shop, meaning Pam had one chance to convincingly build a shred of trust with a woman who could make or break the mission.

 _No pressure._

Scanning her immediate surroundings, Pam found something that sparked a plan of attack. Across the way lay a little coffee shop that sat tucked away at the corner of the street.

Glancing back at the clothing store, Pam hurried across the street as quickly as she could, purchasing a cup of coffee and making her way back outside.

She'd just crossed the street again, when Harleen came outside holding a bag full of items for Pam to potentially ruin. Her plan wasn't exactly subtle. But with the way Harleen was skipping in an out of stores, she doubted she had the time to set up another meeting inside one of them.

 _Make your move._

Gathering all the confidence she could muster of a well to do woman doing some casual shopping, Pam plowed forward, perusing the shops, attention on anything but Harleen.

The impact quite literally almost knocked her off her feet, the scalding coffee not only soaking Harleen's bag of purchases, but Pam's chest as well.

 _Fucking—_

"Oh my god!" Pam allowed her actual pain to enthuse her performance. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I should have been watching where I was going. I—God, your things. I'm such an idiot." She stooped to grab the purse Harleen had dropped, catching the guards lurching forward from the corner of her eye.

Standing quickly, she handed the purse back to a still stunned Harleen, who's eyes were on her coffee stained bag.

"I'm so sorry, are you alright?"

Finally, Harleen looked up at her. She had large blue eyes, long blonde hair, piled up into a styled bun beneath her hat, tan skin that suggested to Pam she made outings like this quite often—or that she'd received the same tanning treatment Harvey had forced on her—manicured fingernails, and more bits of jewelry than Pam could count—including a pair of hoop earrings so large they nearly touched her shoulders.

She was about Pam's height, and the neckline of the dress she wore plunged just below her cleavage. Pam quickly tore her attention away and back to Harleen's face.

"I'm alright," she sounded surprisingly cheerful, even giving Pam a wide grin. "No harm done."

"No harm? Please, let me replace those for you Miss—,"

"Harleen."

"Harleen, please. I can't believe—I'm such an idiot." Pam thought she might be hamming up the performance too much, but the crocodile tears seemed to be drawing her in.

"No, it's ok. I can't tell ya how many accidents I've had just walkin' down my own driveway."

Pam wasn't sure what she'd expected, but the Gotham accent was almost ridiculously thick.

"You'll let me replace everything, won't you?" Pam pushed, reaching for Harley's bag despite the guards who stood stiff as boards right behind her. "Please come with me."

She had the bag now and Harleen had no choice but to follow her back into the store.

"I'm just glad I didn't stain your dress," Pam said once they were inside. "It's gorgeous."

"Ya really don't have to do this," Harleen ignored the compliment, glancing around the store sheepishly. "My husband always says I got too many clothes anyway."

"But you paid for these," Pam insisted, handing the bag back to one of the clerks. "I'll be reimbursing my friend here for her purchases and anything else she chooses today."

The clerk blinked, looking between Pam and Harley, and then nodded once, toting the ruined bag away.

"Well…Thanks—,"

"Paula." Pam held out her hand.

Harley shook it firmly. "This is very nice of you."

Pam waved her away. "It's the least I can do. Now pick what you like, I'll wait here."

Excitement lit up Harleen's features now and she scurried away towards a rack of expensive looking floor length gowns.

Pam fidgeted nervously, hoping her wallet actually had enough in it to cover for her ploy. She certainly looked the part. Her hair heaped on top of her head, nails manicured, an enormous diamond necklace that Harvey had insisted on. Pam suspected if she'd looked anything less like Harleen, her guards would have thrown her out into the street.

She didn't take quite as long to shop this time, grabbing what Pam assumed were her second choices quickly and then returning to the front desk, setting her new dresses down with a beaming smile.

"Thanks again, Paula," Harleen whispered as the clerk began scanning her dresses.

"Don't thank me, please," Pam waved her off, handing a wad of cash over to the clerk, enough to cover a number she didn't even want to consider. "I sincerely apologize for ruining what you bought in the first place."

"That's okay. Not everyone woulda been nice enough to buy me new things."

Pam led Harley out of the store, stopping just before they reached her guards.

"Well, Harleen—,"

"Call me Harley, everyone does."

 _Nickname, excellent._

"Harley," Pam corrected herself. "It was good to meet you, although I wish it could have been under different circumstances."

Harley laughed, "You know how to make an impression, Paula."

Pam just smiled. "Listen, if you're not too busy. I'd like to treat you to an actual cup of coffee sometime."

"You already paid for my dresses," Harley seemed genuinely shocked by the offer. "You really don't have ta do anythin' else."

"I know. I'm extending the offer as someone who's just interested in some company. I'm new to the area."

"Oh…" Harley blinked and for a moment Pam thought she might say no.

 _You laid it on too thick, reign her back in._

But Harley spoke before she could try again.

"Sure," she beamed. "I'd love to."

Pam's eyes flickered to the guards who somehow looked even grumpier than before, and then back to Harley. "Meet me here tomorrow at noon?"

Harley's grin widened. "Sounds like a date."


End file.
